The Plumpton Pass
by imagined-experiences
Summary: This is a collections of entries for the Quidditch European Cup Competition, representing Puddlemere United! first round: freedom advances, towards its end; Rowena Centric.
1. freedom advances, towards its end

The tittle of the collection is a Quidditch term explained in 'Quidditch through the ages' : "This seemingly careless Seeker move is named for the fastest Snitch catch in British history, Roderick Plumpton's capture of the Snitch up his sleeve in 1921"

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_My prompts for the first round were: Founders era, glass, tempted and scar. For the Puddlemere team._

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Thank you to the amazing **Schermionie** for her precious help and encouragement with the fic.

Thank you to the lovely **on rooftops** for her amazing betareading work.

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NB: This is a sequel to my fic 'the wind blows'(my audition piece), but can be read as a stand alone.

The title for this specific entry is inspired by the poem 'The Sunlight on the Garden' by Louis MacNeice

Enjoy & Review please!

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**freedom advances, towards its end**

Rowena lands on the floor to the sound of shattering glass. The room is the same as the one she has just left, but the lighting has changed, the year too. Her study is darker in her time, with only some candles alight, but she can see the shadow of a tall man sitting on her sofa.

Her wand is at the ready in less than one second, but she is relieved to realize it's only Salazar. Her sudden appearance made him drop his wine glass, so a dark stain colours her carpet. She wonders what he could have been doing in her house on his own. Her books are about rhetoric - they aren't practical enough for him and she can't see any other reason why he would be here alone. He rarely visits her or Helga. Godric is the one with the privilege of Salazar's time outside his study.

"You've been missing for six days, Rowena." Her friend's voice bounces in her head, and she feels a little dizzy; she has just travelled hundreds of years in time, but she doesn't want him to know.

"I had things to do." Her voice is as cold as ice. She turns her back to him, straightens her spine.

She doesn't explain more and starts busying herself in the room as she would do after a regular trip. Salazar must not know. He isn't wise enough.

Rowena is tempted to tell him about her exploit, about meeting her descendant and travelling in time, but she knows she can't. She is intelligent enough to be his friend and not his enemy, sensible enough not to trust him.

She is aware of the weight of the diadem on her head, the object that allowed her to travel in time, but acts as though it isn't important. Salazar's eyes are set on it; she can feel it. His mind is probably buzzing with questions, but he asks none. Rowena hopes it is relief tying his tongue, but she knows she is wrong. He is not the worrying kind of person - that would be sweet Helga.

Salazar is her friend, yes, he is Godric and Helga's friend too, but they all know he is not like them. He wants knowledge and recognition and power, but not in that order. Power will always come first for him. People don't matter to him, not even his dearest Godric.

Her thoughts are cut off by Salazar's voice.

"I just want to remind you that tonight we must vote for the school name. Again."

"I won't follow your choice, Salazar; you very well know it." It's discriminating and inappropriate, but she doesn't say that out loud.

"One of us must be wise enough and stop voting for their own proposition though. And you're known to be the wiser one, Rowena."

"Flattery doesn't suit you. It must be a pain for you to admit it although it is the truth."

Salazar laughs before answering her, "Maybe, but at least battles of words don't scar."

He leaves with those words, and Rowena can imagine the burnt tissue of his arm. The fights, the experiments, the things Rowena and her friends try to forget, to overlook.

His experiments are more and more dangerous, and his ideas too. They can all see it, but they can't help but admire the wizard if not the man. They need him for the school, a greater good, and if they manage to have him understand their views, he might be one of the greatest wizards the world will have the chance to know. Rowena hopes they can change him even though her small glimpse of the future suggests they won't.


	2. midnight meeting

_My prompts for the second round were: Quidditch pitch. "__Flying_ is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss." Douglas Adams.

_I have interpreted this prompt as sometimes things that you consider to be a failure can turn out to be good._

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Thank you to the amazing **Schermionie** for her precious help and encouragement with the fic.

Thank you to the great **The Lola** for her amazing betareading work.

**Go Puddlemere!**

Enjoy & Review please!

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**midnight meeting**

Louis doesn't even know why he is hiding here, underneath the benches in the Quidditch pitch, after curfew. He should be in his dorm preparing for his test tomorrow. Or at least, he should be resting. But that damn note. He just couldn't ignore it.

He found it some days ago in his Potions textbook.

'Come to the Quidditch pitch 11pm tonight, it's important.'

He didn't go. He ignored it, wrongly thinking it was one of his cousins, possibly Roxanne, making a bad joke, and trying to land him a detention in order to stain his perfect record.

He is the first Gryffindor in history never to have had a detention – not even a minor one – and he will stick to it, thank you very much.

It's not that Louis isn't brave enough to find himself in situations potentially dangerous for his school record; he is just usually intelligent enough to avoid them. After-curfew exits, or rather re-entering the common room after curfew, can only happen between 11.00 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. Outside of those you are sure to be caught. It's the only safe slot since the prefects patrol away from the tower at that time. He knows that; his cousins know that. All Gryffindors who are interested in the information know that.

That's why Louis, knowing that the rendez-vous request was probably genuine, gave in to his curiosity and finally went to the pitch after the fifth parchment note found this morning in one of his books. All the messages state the same words: he is to go the Quidditch pitch – the bloody cold Quidditch pitch. He should have thought of bringing an extra robe.

After waiting for a good ten minutes, a silhouette finally appears on the pitch. Louis can't make out who it is, but the person is definitely tall. Fred is his first thought, but the hair is wrong. He needs to approach.

Only ten metres away, he recognises Lorcan Scamander. The boy is two years younger than him; he is in his fifth year, a Ravenclaw. He barely knows him, though. Only chats with him from time to time at lunch. Louis doesn't understand what could bring him here.

Louis approaches the boy noisily; he doesn't want to startle him.

"You came!" Lorcan shows relief, and Louis smiles at him.

"Why did we need to meet here, Lorcan?" Louis hesitates now: maybe it's the other twin, Lysander. No, the hair is wrong for Lysander. "It's Lorcan, isn't it?" the Gryffindor asks just in case.

"Yes, Lorcan. And, it's because of the stars. Mum said it would help."

Louis is confused. "Help for what?"

The night is only illuminated by the moon, but Louis can see the younger boy blush.

"Umm," Lorcan hesitates, "asking you on a date."

Louis is surprised. He can't help but laugh. "Risking detention for a setting?"

"And umm, for you. You need to be impressed. You never accept dates, you know. And Mum said impressing you, the stars, it would, umm, help."

Louis can see how uncomfortable the other boy is. After his break-up with Frank, he refused every boy who asked him on a date. But still, Lorcan tries. It's almost endearing, if only it wasn't so stupid. "You know that even if I accept, our first date would probably be a detention. And cleaning trophies without magic isn't really a turn on for me."

"Yes." Lorcan takes a deep breath. "But the company would be."

Louis laughs at the boldness of the Ravenclaw boy. "Come on, then, I am bloody freezing here. Let's go have our detention."

Lorcan laughs; his eyes shine. And Louis thinks, Maybe a tainted record won't be so bad after all.


End file.
